Buddha preaches
the world blinks
when you do,
disappears
when you do,
you would think
these small things
would survive:
blue-vinegar pines,
resin-caked black nails
of nimble squirrels—
the one tree in which
you carved your initials
to survive through either
a din or a bright eternity
Everything weeps. The moon
weeps moonlight. Hills weep
lost balance.
As does the sky. The clouds.
A single blade of grass weeps
frost in November.
Earth weeps half the time. No wit.
Earth in your eyes. Birds weep
in closed nests.
Pardon grief. It shakes a beautiful
world. The world weeps in secret
for grief.
A template. A smothering of love mud.
A mother’s rose bush weeps petals
without rain
Tim Brennan is a UW-Eau Claire grad and former Altoona resident. Brennan’s poetry can be found in Volume One, Barstow & Grand, and Rochester Art in the City. Brennan’s one act plays have played across the USA, including stages in Milwaukee, Colorado Springs, Taos, N.M., and internationally in England and Mexico. Read more of his work on VolumeOne.org.